


Bottled Emotions

by Jupiterra



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Murder, Relationship is not focus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 11:21:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14283825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jupiterra/pseuds/Jupiterra
Summary: Alfred loses his temper during a critical diplomatic meeting. Russia is amused.





	Bottled Emotions

The voice, once charming, had tarnished to one of irritation. Alfred had grown to hate the every breath of his voice, the endless windbag that was his boss. A grim plastic smile hid a sea of rage in the frustrated immortal. Alfred had finally been socially progressing and becoming a better person in past years. Transgender bathrooms, less segregation, and even paying his debt...

All to be undone. All to be destroyed and branded. This one foolish president had ruined everything.

“Alfred! Pay attention!” the foolish man barked, like a dog with a bad wig. Seated silently beside his boss, Alfred fumed with a fake smile.

Opposite them in the beautiful Moscow meeting room, was a rather bored looking Vladimir Putin. At the stately human's side was the living nation, the ash blond known as Russia. He sipped his tea, looking slightly interested. Which was nice. _Please see how angry I am_ , Alfred begged internally.

“As I was saying. Weapon demonstrations should be done at _my_ property, on the...” The horrible human being went on. Alfred vibrated with the need to protest, to scratch and claw. He behaved, he stilled white knuckled hands.

Hate. Pure hate screamed to do something, writhing under Alfred Foster Jone's skin. The immortal American hadn't been this upset since George Bush Junior had 14 major grammar errors in a presidential speech.

Putin seemed annoyed at having to move his million dollar tanks yet again, due to the US president's pride. Alfred very much doubted the stubborn human would comply in the least. Ivan was not even paying attention now. This was all such a joke!

“No. The troops and the planes are already scheduled for the 23rd, and it cannot be changed.” Alfred spoke up defiantly, staring unflinchingly at the legal equal.

“Did I say you could talk, Mr. Jones?” the president dismissed, immediately returning to his stupid rant.

Grinding his teeth, Alfred squeezed the arm of his chair so hard the wood was creaking ominously. Red rage induced tunnel vision on the human narrowed mentally to a laser point. A voice broke his concentration, mind scattered with emotion.

“Perhaps we should talk in a kinder manner, on such sensitive topics.” Ivan suggested in a steely tone, royal purple eyes briefly meeting blue. Ivan understood madness all nations bore. He understood Alfred in this exact situation.

“That would be wise.” Putin agreed.

“I can say anything I want to Mr. Jones, as my employee. He serves the the interests of the American public, and those interests are me. You don't understand anything.” The older man spoke, more aggressively than before. A few of his own body guards raised a brow at this ostentatious statement, a verbal monument to hubris.

A low growl snaked out of Alfred, the fuming breath of a caged dragon.

“Alfred... Fedya. Be reasonable.” Ivan hushed softly in Russian, standing in visible concern now.

“I was told this would be a proper English event.” the doomed president sneered, making every Russian in the room unimpressed. Which was a terrible feat in itself.

“Russian is a proper functional language that requires equal representation!” Alfred snapped, now standing. Strange, he didn't remember leaving his seat. “The weapon demonstrations will not be moved, and you will respect these lovely people, because we owe them several billion dollars!” the honey blonde thundered, full on glaring.

There was a long stretch of silence, like a lull in battle. No one dared utter a sound. Finally another shot was fired.

“You're fired Mr. Jones. Leave.” the US president ordered coldly. Years of built up hostility and toxic work environment depression burst it's dams.

Picking up a beautifully beaded lamp, it was found to be of sufficient weight. Alfred smashed the heavy base into that slack spray tanned jaw. “How many times have I told you? I –” Another wet crack as the human fell like a log to the floor. “– am not your intern slave! I am the living spirit of the –” The gold of the lamp base was now crimson as it mashed into grey exposed brain matter. “– United States of Beautiful America, and no one's servant!”

Taking numb ragged breaths, the bloody lamp was gently extracted from his hand. Russia was there somehow, patting him on the back. He was possibly the only one in the room that didn't look upset. “Just sit and breath. It'll be okay.” the Russian assured, not caring if he stepped in the brain splatter of a dead American president.

The secret service looked bewildered but never strayed from their posts. Technically, Alfred was the highest legally ranking person in all of America. He had compulsory work demands and quotas to meet of course. But for Alfred to actually kill his symbolic 'boss', no one knew how to proceed. He hadn't committed such deeds in centuries.

Sitting with trembling breaths, Alfred took a long minute to control his racing heart. A rather frightened Putin said nothing, waiting patiently.

“So, I apologize deeply for any inconvenience. This mess will be cleaned up entirely at my expense. The weapon demonstrations will occur when we agreed on the phone. Of course, I will have my best translators there to ensure no difficulties. As for those sanctions, I've already approved of a few being lifted.” Alfred informed in perfect Russian, suddenly sleepy after such an intense rush of emotions.

“That sounds very good.” Ivan agreed, once again sipping his tea. The only remaining human leader in the room was quick to flee, but his nation equivalent lingered.

“My boss, he won't talk. He's smarter than that. I have this card...” Russia promised, rooting through one of many pockets. A dirty printed business card in Russian was produced. He smiled and flushed with joy as he pressed the rectangle into Alfred's blood scabbed hands. The crazy fool really was an anarchist at heart.

“It's a wonderful body double company. You could rent someone that looks like him until you deal with his family and probable gambling debt. They _always_ have hidden gambling debt.” Ivan went on, as if he were speaking from experience.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” Alfred replied honestly with wet eyes. Seeing out the old enemy and confusing lover, the freckled blond allowed himself to smile. “Orders sir?” one of the body guards asked. “Continue as you were. I'm going to find us a back up president.” Alfred replied after a moment of studying the card.

Alfred smiled, then began making calls. He was going to make the United States of America wonderful again.


End file.
